Bree
The television had been on for almost an hour, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing that had aired before the breaking news alert interrupted whatever daytime program had been playing.
Every station in Memphis seemed to be carrying the same story, each reporter standing outside Chief Elias Valecrest‘s home as flashing blue lights painted the neighborhood behind them.
The words Chief of Police Found Dead stretched across the bottom of every screen as helicopters hovered overhead, broadcasting live footage of a house I’d only visited a handful of times but immediately recognized.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach as they replayed the same scene over and over again, reporters speculating while officers worked behind yellow crime scene tape.
Before I could fully process what I was watching, my phone lit up across the coffee table.
“Caz?” I said, sitting forward so fast the throw blanket slipped into the floor. “I saw what happened. It’s on every news station in Memphis. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
For a few seconds all I heard was his breathing. It was uneven, labored almost, as though every breath cost him more than the last one. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded nothing like the confident man I’d talked to only a few hours earlier.
“No...” He paused, swallowing whatever was caught in his throat. “No, I’m not okay.”
“Come over.”
“I’m on my way.”
Tossing my phone into my purse, I didn’t bother packing an overnight bag or changing clothes. None of that mattered. Cazmir didn’t need a suitcase. He didn’t need advice. He didn’t need somebody trying to convince him everything would somehow be okay because we both knew it wouldn’t.
The man he called his hero was gone, and there wasn’t a single thing I could say that would make losing his father hurt any less. What he needed was someone willing to sit beside him while the world he’d always known crumbled around him, and if there was one thing I could do, it was show up.
The drive across town felt longer than it ever had before. Every traffic light seemed to stay red forever, every radio station interrupted its music to talk about Chief Valecrest, and every billboard I passed blurred together because my thoughts refused to settle on anything except Cazmir.
I kept picturing him standing inside that house, seeing what no son should ever have to see, and wondered how a man was supposed to move forward after something like that.
There wasn’t a handbook for grief. There wasn’t a timeline for heartbreak.
There was only the next breath, then the one after that.
By the time I pulled in his driveway, the house sat almost completely dark except for the porch light glowing against the night. I quietly let myself inside using the code he’d insisted I memorize months ago, calling his name only once before realizing I didn’t need to.
The sliding glass door leading to the backyard stood partially open, allowing the cool evening air to drift through the otherwise silent house.
I found him exactly where I knew I would.
He was sitting alone on the back patio, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out into the darkness beyond the fence.
From where I stood, he looked impossibly small despite being the biggest man in almost every room he walked into.
His shoulders, usually squared with confidence, now sagged beneath a weight I knew I couldn’t lift for him.
The untouched glass of bourbon sitting beside his chair told me he’d poured it and never found the strength to drink it.
I didn’t call his name. I didn’t even ask if he was okay.
I simply walked over, lowered myself into the chair beside him, and slipped my hand into his.
His fingers immediately tightened around mine.
For a long time neither one of us spoke.
The silence between us didn’t feel awkward or forced.
It felt necessary, giving grief permission to exist without either of us trying to explain it away.
Somewhere in the distance crickets sang beneath the warm Memphis sky while the wind rustled softly through the trees overhead, but out there on that patio it felt like the entire world had stopped turning.
After what could’ve been minutes or an hour, Cazmir finally let out a shaky breath before turning toward me.
There wasn’t a single word exchanged between us as he shifted from his chair and lowered himself onto the outdoor sofa beside mine.
Then, with a vulnerability I’d never seen from him before, he rested his head in my lap like a little boy searching for the only place left that still felt safe.
I gently ran my fingers through his hair, listening as the first quiet sob escaped his chest. His tears came in waves, some quiet enough that I barely noticed them while others shook his entire body under my fingertips.
I continued running my fingers through his hair the same a mother would whenever her child had a bad day growing up, never once asking him to explain what he was feeling or encouraging him to be strong.
Grief had a language all its own, one I’d become familiar with the day my father buried my mother.
Sometimes the greatest comfort wasn’t found in having the right words.
Sometimes it was simply found in having someone willing to sit beside you until the silence didn’t feel quite so lonely.
“I keep thinking she gone wake me up tomorrow talking about breakfast ready,” he finally said, as he stared out into the darkness beyond the backyard.
“Then he’ll come downstairs fussing because she overcooked his bacon again.” A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Did she?”
“Every damn Sunday.” He let out a faint laugh through his tears before shaking his head. “She would tell him it wasn’t burnt...it had flavor.” His smile disappeared almost as quick as it came. “He’d eat every bite anyway.”
His words painted a picture far different from the man the rest of Memphis knew. To the city, Elias Valecrest had been the Chief of Police. A respected leader. A decorated law enforcement officer. To Cazmir...he’d simply been Dad.
“You know...” He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the fence. “He never missed nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“My first baseball game, I struck out every single time I got up to bat. I was so embarrassed I cried the whole ride home because I thought he was disappointed in me.”
“Was he?” He shook his head.
“No. The man took me straight to Dick’s Sporting Goods, bought me a new glove, then spent every evening after work throwing baseballs with me until the sun went down.”
“He kept telling me: “Son, don’t let one bad game convince you that you ain’t built for the sport.” He looked down at his hands. “I hit my first home run three weeks later.”
“He never let you quit.” I smiled through my own wave of tears.
“Never.”
The stories continued flowing as though one memory unlocked another.
He told me about learning how to drive in an empty church parking lot while his father talked him through every mistake instead of yelling.
About the afternoon Elias stood behind him before junior prom, showing him how to tie a Windsor knot because “every man oughta know how to tie his own tie.” About birthdays where his father somehow always managed to make it home before blowing out candles, even after working double shifts.
About high school graduation, college acceptance letters, his first promotion, and every milestone in between.
“He was there,” Cazmir whispered.
“Every single time...he was just there.”
Listening to him, I realized something that hadn’t fully settled in until that moment.
The man crying in my lap wasn’t mourning Memphis's Chief of Police.
He was mourning the father who never missed Little League games.
The father who taught him how to drive. The father who tied his first tie.
The father who clapped louder than anybody else at every graduation. Titles meant nothing in grief.
Love did.
Eventually, his breathing evened out enough that I knew exhaustion had won the battle.
Looking down, I realized he’d fallen asleep with his hand still wrapped around mine, his face relaxed in a way it hadn’t been since I’d arrived.
Careful not to wake him, I gently eased my fingers free before grabbing the throw blanket draped over the back of one of the patio chairs and covering him.
He stirred slightly but never opened his eyes.
Quietly making my way back inside, I found the house just as silent as before.
The only light came from beneath the guest bedroom door where I assumed Mrs. Valecrest was resting.
I knocked, before easing the door open. She was sitting at the edge of the bed.
A cup of untouched tea rested on the nightstand while she sat on the edge of the bed with Elias wedding band clutched tightly in her hands.
Silent tears continued slipping down her cheeks, falling one after another onto the gold band she’d spent decades watching him wear.
“I thought you were asleep.” She shook her head.
“I keep thinking if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up and today would’ve just been a bad dream.” I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her. She melted into the embrace, crying against my shoulder with the restraint of a woman who’d spent the entire day trying not to completely fall apart.
“I know this feeling,” I whispered, rubbing slow circles across her back. “When my father lost my mother, I watched him walk around our house for weeks pretending he was okay because he thought being strong meant carrying everything by himself. It almost destroyed him.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
“How did he get through it?”
“He didn’t by himself.”
I offered her the smallest smile. “And neither are you.”